


punishment, penance

by Anonymous



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Catholic Guilt, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Gentle Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s his punishment, his penance. Instead of asking for forgiveness, Ronan lets himself be bloodied and bruised and fucked and forgotten. Instead of going to Mass, he sneaks into to bars. Instead of dropping to his knees at an altar, he drops to his knees in a bathroom stall. Instead of opening his mouth in prayer, he opens his mouth to be used.</p>
            </blockquote>





	punishment, penance

It’s his punishment, his penance. Instead of asking for forgiveness, Ronan lets himself be bloodied and bruised and fucked and forgotten. Instead of going to Mass, he sneaks into to bars. Instead of dropping to his knees at an altar, he drops to his knees in a bathroom stall. Instead of opening his mouth in prayer, he opens his mouth to be used.

Punishment. Penance.

During, when there’s a hand tight around his throat, fingernails breaking the skin at his hips, scratches on his thighs. He loves it, because it feels good, feels like atonement.

After, when he’s slumped to the ground. Dirty. Disgusting. With sweat and come and blood. With shame and humiliation and chagrin.

Ronan deserves it. At least, that’s what he believes. He thinks he’s not worth anything more than a quick fuck instead of love, more than a bite instead of a kiss, more than a scratch instead of a soothe, more than a burn instead of an ache.

That’s the way it always been. He lets himself be led to the bathroom where men with sour breath pin him against the wall and take him like a ragdoll. At the very last moment, the guilt turns into bright desire and he swims in the feeling of it.

It’s the way he’s used, but it’s the looks he gets, too. That’s what does it for him. That’s the sharpest part of the way he makes himself pay.

It’s Gansey’s confusion, Blue’s pity, Noah’s grieving stares, and Adam’s fucking frown.

It’s Gansey’s eyes searching his visible skin for bruises. It’s Blue’s lingering looks and the fact that she’s holding herself back from making a multitude of smartass comments. It’s Noah’s sad eyes becoming even more mournful. It’s everything Adam does.

It’s the way all of this makes his heart fucking ache.

Adam kisses him. They’re in his shitty little apartment, sitting on his bed, talking about anything but Glendower, and then Adam is kissing him.

It takes everything in him to push Adam away. “What the _fuck_ was that, Parrish?” he spits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pretending his heart isn’t being out of his chest.

“That was a kiss,” Adam says, slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child.

Ronan stares at him wildly for a second before asking, “What the hell made you think it’d be a good idea to do that?”

The look Adam is wearing is very plain. It’s nothing like Gansey’s confusion, or Blue’s pity, of Noah’s grieving stares. He shrugs and states, “I wanted to kiss you, so I did. Easy as that.”

“ _Why_?” Ronan demands. He sounds like he’s out of breath. That would be embarrassing if it were anyone other than Adam, who knows him better than anyone else, who _he_ knows better than anyone else.

Adam’s eyebrows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” he retorts. “It’s _you_ , asshole. Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” Then, realization dawns over his features and Ronan’s expression hardens. “Ronan--”

“I don’t want your fucking _pity_ ,” he snaps. He curls in on himself, head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He feels a hand on his shoulder and he recoils so suddenly that he hurts himself. “ _Fuck_ \--”

The hand is back and it’s grip is a vice around his muscle. “I wasn’t giving you my _pity_ ,” Adam tells him. His voice is hard. Ronan knows that this is the angriest Adam has ever been. “You don’t fucking _deserve_ this, Ronan. The bruises, the scratches.” He tightens his hold on Ronan’s shoulder. His voice softens, but it’s still firm. “You don’t deserve whatever you’re making yourself go through.”

“What the fuck?” Ronan whispers. Adam is suddenly very close and his hand is curling around Ronan’s jaw. His lips are back, soft and dry, ghosting over Ronan’s own. Adam’s hand is cradling Ronan’s face, thumb brushing over the sharp jut of his cheekbone, index finger curled just behind his ear.

He’s holding Ronan like he’s porcelain, like he’s something fragile, precious. Like he could be broken.

Defensive, Ronan snaps, “I’m not made of fucking glass,” because it’s how he copes, remember? Punishment. Penance.

“Shut up,” Adam tells him, still touching Ronan like no one has ever touched him before. Gently. His lips are closed and barely pinched, keeping their exchange chaste. Adam is more focused on touching the parts of Ronan that hurt, easing the ache.

Adam deepens the kiss, and his tongue is soothing over every bite mark any man has made on Ronan’s mouth. He trails his lips downward, chaste kisses being pressed against Ronan’s throat. They cover the bruises that are prominent, the ones that had just recently been sucked and bitten and pressed by fingertips to the surface.

His hands fit in the valleys between each rib, clothed by the fabric of his tank top. His lips are still moving across the planes of his collarbones, mapping the skin with his mouth.

Hesitantly, Adam circles his fingers around Ronan’s wrists. Their eyes stay locked as he presses a kiss to the palms of each hand.

Oh, this is not what he’s used to.

He’s back to kissing Ronan. Chastely--against his forehead, his eyelids, the slope of his nose. He does this as he lifts the tank top off of Ronan, exposing more skin marked by other people--punishment, penance.

Adam drops a small kiss to one of Ronan’s shoulder, right where the black ink of his tattoo curls around the muscle.

As Adam is pulling off his own shirt, Ronan feels satisfaction settle deep in his stomach.

Ronan Lynch, hurricane of a boy, all shotgun and pocket knife, can be wanted, can be desired by someone like Adam. No more dangerous men roughing him up. Adam, with his gentle hands flitting over every surface of Ronan’s body, making him feel worthy.

“God,” Ronan breathes, and Adam is pressing the length of himself against him, skin smoothing over skin. His back makes contact with the sheets on Adam’s bed.

Adam moves down his body, leaving a trail of kisses that burn like fire in his wake. He takes him time at Ronan’s hips, mouthing at the thin skin, teeth scraping over the bone. Finally, he drags Ronan’s jeans and boxers down, and Ronan lets out a sound of relief.

Ronan looks down to find Adam smiling. Not wicked, like he’d expected, but fond. He presses his lips to the exposed skin of Ronan’s thigh. Then, he takes him into his mouth.

Sure, he’s had a quick mouth on him when the man who fucked him had already finished, but they had been sloppy and hurried. Adam is nothing if not reverent.

Reaching down to anchor himself, Ronan finds Adam lacing their fingers together. He feels desire shoot through him like a punch to the stomach. Adam is going slow, a little inexperienced, but he’s hell bent on making this good for Ronan, and, God, is it good.

Ronan lets out a sob as he comes, fingers tightening their hold on Adam’s, and his back is arching and his breathing is harsh and he feels like he’s drunk and high and floating, all at the same time.

Adam is back to kissing him, and all Ronan can do is just lay there as Adam gets himself off. When the roughness of Adam’s jeans come in contact with Ronan’s cock, Ronan lets out a pained and pleasured hiss, and that’s what does it for Adam. He’s coming over his fist and Ronan’s stomach with a litany of curses.

Ronan lies still in the aftermath and lets himself be cleaned up by Adam. He strips them both of their clothing and covers them with the thin sheet that Adam has, because the heat of a Henrietta summer is thick and unforgiving.

He waits for the shame to hit him while Adam holds him close and mouths kisses to the back of his neck. It never does.

As he’s falling asleep, Ronan hears Adam say, “I love you,” tacking on a belated and muffled, “Asshole,” because he would be Adam if he didn’t.

Right before sleep takes him, Ronan mumbles, “You, too, asshole.”

 


End file.
